On the sleeve is a vertiginous image of a steel tower with hellish red smoke swirling beneath. Inside is a disc that threatens to permanently impair several human faculties. A Place To Bury Strangers’ third album attacks the ears most; see the colossal cochlea decimation delivered on ‘Revenge’. Elsewhere however, it’s evident that these strident experimentalists have expanded their sound considerably. Where their previous records ‘A Place To Bury Strangers’ and ‘Exploding Head’ embarked on a mission to cause maximum destruction, ‘Worship’’s warpath is more carefully trodden. Its eleven songs are afforded space to breathe and are never overwhelming. Noise is scrupulously interwoven with restrained drone, reflective lyrics and melody, even. It is never gratuitous; not even at its most nerve-shredding (the closing sequence of ‘Mind Control’ is almost incontinence-inducing). ‘Worship’’s exploration of sound and its capacity to influence human reaction casts Oliver Ackermann and Dion Lunadon as sonic manipulators with undying dedication. Wrought from hours spent toying with sonic tools specifically built for this recording, ‘Worship’ is hypnotic (‘Fear’), subtle (‘Dissolved’) and palpitating (‘Why I Can’t Cry Anymore’). Constantly exhilarating, it’s a sensory obliteration that proves that now, more than ever, APTBS are much more than just noise.